you don’t want me to.”
“Oh, no, not every fellow.” Sondra was at once intrigued
and checkmated by the simplicity of his retort. “There are
lots of people who don’t think I’m very pretty.”
“Oh, don’t they, though?” he returned quite gayly, for at
once he saw that she was not making fun of him. And yet
he was almost afraid to venture another compliment.
Instead he cast about for something else to say, and going
back to the conversation at the table concerning riding and
tennis, he now asked: “You like everything out-of-doors and
athletic, don’t you?”
“Oh, do I?” was her quick and enthusiastic response.
“There isn’t anything I like as much, really. I’m just crazy
about riding, tennis, swimming, motor-boating, aqua-
planing. You swim, don’t you?”
“Oh, sure,” said Clyde, grandly.
“Do you play tennis?”
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“Well, I’ve just taken it up,” he said, fearing to admit that he
did not play at all.
“Oh, I just love tennis. We might play sometime together.”
Clyde’s spirits were completely restored by this. And
tripping as lightly as dawn to the mournful strains of a
popular love song, she went right on. “Bella Griffiths and
Stuart and Grant and I play fine doubles. We won nearly all
the finals at Greenwood and Twelfth Lake last summer.
And when it comes to aqua-planing and high diving you just
ought to see me. We have the swiftest motor-boat up at
Twelfth Lake now—Stuart has. It can do sixty miles an
hour.”
At once Clyde realized that he had hit upon the one subject
that not only fascinated, but even excited her. For not only
did it involve outdoor exercise, in which obviously she
reveled, but also the power to triumph and so achieve
laurels in such phases of sport as most interested those
with whom she was socially connected. And lastly, although
this was something which he did not so clearly realize until
later, she was fairly dizzied by the opportunity all this
provided for frequent changes of costume and hence social
show, which was the one thing above all others that did
interest her. How she looked in a bathing suit—a riding or
tennis or dancing or automobile costume!
They danced on together, thrilled for the moment at least,
by this mutual recognition of the identity and reality of this
interest each felt for the other—a certain momentary
warmth or enthusiasm which took the form of genial and
seeking glances into each other’s eyes, hints on the part of
Sondra that, assuming that Clyde could fit himself
athletically, financially and in other ways for such a world as
this, it might be possible that he would be invited here and
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485
there by her; broad and for the moment self-deluding
notions on his part that such could and would be the case,
while in reality just below the surface of his outward or
seeming conviction and assurance ran a deeper current of
self-distrust which showed as a decidedly eager and yet
slightly mournful light in his eye, a certain vigor and
assurance in his voice, which was nevertheless touched,
had she been able to define it, with something that was not
assurance by any means.
“Oh, the dance is done,” he said sadly.
“Let’s try to make them encore,” she said, applauding. The
orchestra struck up a lively tune and they glided off together
once more, dipping and swaying here and there—
harmoniously abandoning themselves to the rhythm of the
music—like two small chips being tossed about on a rough
but friendly sea.
“Oh, I’m so glad to be with you again—to be dancing with
you. It’s so wonderful … Sondra.”
“But you mustn’t call me that, you know. You don’t know me
well enough.”
“I mean Miss Finchley. But you’re not going to be mad at
me again, are you?”
His face was very pale and sad again.
She noticed it.
“No. Was I mad at you? I wasn’t really. I like you … some
… when you’re not sentimental.”
The music stopped. The light tripping feet became walking
ones.
“I’d like to see if it’s still snowing outside, wouldn’t you?” It
was Sondra asking.
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“Oh, yes. Let’s go.”
Through the moving couples they hurried out a side-door to
a world that was covered thick with soft, cottony, silent
snow. The air was filled with it silently eddying down.
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487
Chapter 27
THE ensuing December days brought to Clyde some
pleasing and yet complicating and disturbing developments.
For Sondra Finchley, having found him so agreeable an
admirer of hers, was from the first inclined neither to forget
nor neglect him. But, occupying the rather prominent social
position which she did, she was at first rather dubious as to
how to proceed. For Clyde was too poor and decidedly too
much ignored by the Griffiths themselves, even, for her to
risk any marked manifestation of interest in him.
And now, in addition to the primary motivating reason for all
this—her desire to irritate Gilbert by being friends with his
cousin—there was another. She liked him. His charm and
his reverence for her and her station flattered and intrigued
her. For hers was a temperament which required adulation
in about the measure which Clyde provided it—sincere and
romantic adulation. And at the very same time he
represented physical as well as mental attributes which
were agreeable to her—amorousness without the courage
at the time, anyhow, to annoy her too much; reverence
which yet included her as a very human being; a mental
and physical animation which quite matched and
companioned her own.
Hence it was decidedly a troublesome thought with Sondra
how she was to proceed with Clyde without attracting too
much attention and unfavorable comment to herself—a
thought which kept her sly little brain going at nights after
she had retired. However, those who had met him at the
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Trumbulls’ were so much impressed by her interest in him
that evening and the fact that he had proved so pleasing
and affable, they in turn, the girls particularly, were satisfied
that he was eligible enough.
And in consequence, two weeks later, Clyde, searching for
inexpensive Christmas presents in Stark’s for his mother,
father, sisters, brother and Roberta, and encountering Jill
Trumbull doing a little belated shopping herself, was invited
by her to attend a pre-Christmas dance that was to be
given the next night by Vanda Steele at her home in
Gloversville. Jill herself was going with Frank Harriet and
she was not sure but that Sondra Finchley would be there.
Another engagement of some kind appeared to be in the
way, but still she was intending to come if she could. But
her sister Gertrude would be glad to have him escort her—a
very polite way of arranging for Gertrude. Besides, as she
knew, if Sondra heard that Clyde was to be there, this might
induce her to desert her other engagement.
“Tracy will be glad to stop for you in time,” she went on, “or
—” she hesitated—“perhaps you’d like to come over for
dinner with us before we go. It’ll be just the family, but we’d
be delighted to have you. The dancing doesn’t begin till
eleven.”
The dance was for Friday night, and on that night Clyde had
arranged to be with Roberta because on the following day
she was leaving for a three-day-over-Christmas holiday visit
to her parents—the longest stretch of time thus far she had
spent away from him. And because, apart from his
knowledge she had arranged to present him with a new
fountain pen and Eversharp pencil, she had been most
anxious that he should spend this last evening with her, a
fact which she had impressed upon him. And he, on his
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489
part, had intended to make use of this last evening to
surprise her with a white-and-black toilet set.
But now, so thrilled was he at the possiblity of a re-
encounter with Sondra, he decided that he would cancel
this last evening engagement with Roberta, although not
without some misgivings as to the difficulty as well as the
decency of it. For despite the fact that he was now so lured
by Sondra, nevertheless he was still deeply interested in
Roberta and he did not like to grieve her in this way. She
would look so disappointed, as he knew. Yet at the same
time so flattered and enthused was he by this sudden, if
tardy, social development that he could not now think of
refusing Jill. What? Neglect to visit the Steeles in
Gloversville and in company with the Trumbulls and without
any help from the Griffiths, either? It might be disloyal,
cruel, treacherous to Roberta, but was he not likely to meet
Sondra?
In consequence he announced that he would go, but
immediately afterwards decided that he must go round and
explain to Roberta, make some suitable excuse—that the